Chapter 2
After 3 days in this luxurious prison, I am close to losing it.
Without a word, Varsul had handed me over to his companions who brought me to my cell. My room really is a cell, even if I have a bathroom, a bed and a small interface where I can read or watch the Sethari’s propaganda channel. The latter is particularly unpleasant, but I have to admit, it’s interesting. At least I am learning something about the power structure and thought patterns of the race that enslaved Earth for so long. On my home planet, everything that could have given us any insight to the thinking of the Sethari had been systematically kept from us. I assume that our honored president, who collaborated with them, was responsible for not letting any information about our occupiers leak out. I wish I hadn’t forced him to his knees, but had stuck a knife in his ribs, instead. On the other hand, I would likely not be alive if I had done that. Even Khazaar wouldn’t have been able to save me from execution.
Khazaar is always in my head. My thoughts sneak to him even when I am watching the interstellar TV program. After my first wave of fear passed, and it wasn’t a wave that made me break down in a shuddering heap on my bed, it was the memory of his strength that kept me going. When I slide into a brief sleep, his milk and honey scent catches me, and I feel a little consolation. During the first night, I had tried to find out if he was also on the Sethari’s ship, but something was preventing me from leaving the room. I could leave my body, but invisible barriers prevent me from leaving this room. I try again and again, every night, and crash against the impenetrable walls, over and over. This is contributing significantly to my irritable mood, and I would love to take it out on Varsul – or even better, on the Sethari. But without a weapon, preferably a sharp-edged sword, I can’t accomplish anything against these aliens with their rubber-like skin. Even if I did own one, how long would I survive? Nobody has ever taught me how to fight with a sword, and, as I know from bitter experience, even the fiercest hate is useless when the enemy has the upper hand. Maybe it was the lack of emotion that had turned the Sethari into an undefeatable enemy for us humans. While we stoked our hate and loathing for them, we also lost part of what made us human. What’s more, we also ignored the fact that they didn’t care how many of us died. All they cared about was their survival as a race.
When Varsul walks into my room on the third day, I don’t know if I want to scratch his eyes out or fall on my knees on front of him. I need to get out of here, otherwise I will go crazy. So, I stand stiffly and wait for whatever he has to say to me. I think about Khazaar, who might be prisoner in another cell, and might be injured. That thought helps me hold my tongue and prevents my hands from lashing out at Varsul. What I really want to do is wipe that casual and victorious grin from his face.
For a split second, I startle even myself. When did I become so violent?
Varsul comes closer while I try to keep my feelings under wraps. Apparently without much luck, because he laughs softly, puts a finger under my chin, and forces me to look in his eyes. Involuntarily, I compare his cold eyes to the gold fire of Khazaar’s eyes. Will I compare every other man to Khazaar from now on? Even now, as a prisoner of Varsul and the Sethari, my thoughts constantly return to him, and only him. With considerable effort, I tear myself away from Khazaar. If I want to survive, I need to stay alert, especially in the presence of the man who holds the key to my freedom.
Varsul’s cinnamon scent wafts over me. It is a discreet reminder that I should concentrate my thoughts on him. I wonder how I could have ever found him attractive. It is true that he is very tall and quite handsome. His has a chiseled and expressive face. A woman who is into cruel gods would surrender to him in a flash. For me, the appeal vanished into thin air the minute I discovered that, hiding behind a smooth and well-spoken façade, was a despicable and power-hungry alien politician. But right now, the only thing I can do is play along if I ever want to be free again.
I turn my head to the side, pulling my chin from his fingers. “What do you want?” I hiss. I can’t be too accommodating, or he will be suspicious. Let him believe that he can tame you, a voice whispers in my head. I flinch. It is Khazaar’s voice. Am I going crazy? Is he still alive, on this ship, trying to make contact with me? With all my willpower, I suppress the happy trembling that is running through my body and pull the corners of my mouth into what I hope is a contemptuous smile. “Did you come to take advantage of my hopeless situation?” I continue. “If so, you should just leave. I will never be your wife.”
His scales extend and I hear their quiet rustle. I know I have hit a sore spot. For a reason I am unaware of, he somehow needs me. His slit-shaped pupils grow even narrower as he sizes me up. Then he laughs a full and deeply amused laugh, one I would have found very appealing, if we had been in a different place at a different time. “You are a brave little girl,” he remarks approvingly. At least, I assume it is supposed to sound approving. To me, it sounds deflating. “I know you are more than just brave. You are also clever.” He is quiet and lets the silence between us do its work. Successfully, I must admit, because my heart rate increases, and I grow nervous. I swallow once, dryly, and I know he can see how restless I am. I appear to give in, and allow the trembling that is still hiding within me, to come out. My hands shake, my knees turn to pudding, and even my poor human heart stutters uneasily in my breast.
“What do you want?” I repeat. I can’t get out more than three words.
He saunters over to my narrow bed and lies down on it. More than anything, I am furious that he leaves his shoes on. That one small and unimportant act shows me that Varsul could care less about me. To make matters worse, he puts a pillow behind him, and crosses his arms behind his head. He is making himself comfortable on my bed, is making himself at home in it, as if he wants to spend the next few days in it.
I shake my head, and cross my arms in front of my chest.
His answer consists of scooting over to the side a little and patting the free space with his hand. He sighs dramatically when I refuse. With a deliberately injured expression, he looks at me. “Come on, little Cassie,” he entices me. Sooner or later, you will do what I want, anyway. So why make your life unnecessarily difficult?”
“I will never do what you want, and I definitely will never go to bed with you.”
“Never say never,” he grins, “until you know the ace your enemy has up his sleeve. At the moment,” he closes his eyes, and holds up three fingers, one after the other, “I hold three cards over you. And every single one,” his voice lowers to a sultry, relishing whisper, “is enough to get you into bed with me.”
“Let’s hear them,” I say, challenging him. I don’t believe a single word he is saying.
“Number one,” he begins. “You are not the only prisoner on this ship. A few other girls are also here, and are awaiting their fate, but not in a luxuriously furnished cell room like this one.”
I open my mouth, ready to throw my words in his face. What do I care about the others? But before I can say anything, I close my mouth again. There is more.
“Their future doesn’t look as rosy as yours,” he continues. “They don’t have your abilities, and they are sitting around, crying all day.” His despising tone lets me know what he thinks of these women. “I really don’t know why Khazaar made this deal with your president, but fine – right now, it doesn’t matter, anyway. The fact is, they are hardly suitable companions for us. They are too weak.” His mouth pulls into a cruel smile, and I make a mental note, to never, ever let him see any sign of weakness again. “I could just dispose of them, due to their uselessness, or I could sell them to one of the interstellar bordellos.” He lets his words sink in. Involuntarily, I see delicate Mary Jane in front of me, being held down by a tentacle-armed Sethari while he takes advantage of her. With effort, I force my rising bile back down. I regret eating even a single bite of my breakfast.
“Or?” I croak, and look at Varsul.
“Or, with a little good will on your part, we could bring them with us, to be kitchen helpers and servants.”
He has already won, and he knows it. Even so, he continues on with his counting. “Second, your beloved Khazaar is on board, and is doing well, given the circumstances.” I knew it. I knew it, my head hammers over and over. He is alive! If he is alive, then I need to stay strong, I remind myself. “That could change, of course, if someone angers me needlessly.”
“I understand,” I say, my voice flat. Those were two points with which he had secured my cooperation. What could the third be? I think feverishly, but nothing comes to mind.
I needn’t wait long. Varsul demonstrates his third point to me. He lies back, relaxes and fixes me with his stare. His gaze turns dull, and right when I am thinking What is going on here, I feel it. He is in my head.
For a few seconds, I feel nothing but panic, as Varsul rummages through my memories. He isn’t being very selective, and I can tell that he is merely demonstrating his superiority. He isn’t doing this to collect memories. The feeling is repulsive, and I feel violated. But my tormentor isn’t finished with me yet. Now I see with boundless horror that my legs are moving toward the bed. “Stop!” I say through clenched teeth. But Varsul only laughs softly, a sound that is all the more threatening because his amusement is real. I move towards him like a zombie, stiff and awkward, until I am lying next to him. He is still resting comfortably on the pillows, and I straddle him with my legs spread. I want to vomit, right on him, and the thought is so satisfying, that my incredible fear starts to subside a little. Varsul puts his hands on my hips which are circling around his sex, against my will. Thank God, he is clothed! I grind against him, run my tongue over my lips, and feel my nipples grow erect. Varsul’s hands glide up my body, tantalizingly slow, and cup my breasts possessively.
Now I know he doesn’t need to use physical violence to force me to bend to his will. All he needs to do is get in my head to make me obey. Varsul sees that I understand, and I am alone in my head once again. I crumple to the bed.
I don’t start crying until the door closes behind him and I am alone.